


Vex

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, PWP without Porn, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor is a particularly cruel tease.





	Vex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Ulan’s “16 [Project] for Glorfindel and Erestor” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/163120603835/prompt-list-4). Vague sequel to [Preparation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11702547)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Glorfindel suffers no delusion that this will be _easy_. He made good use of his night, the one where he bore all control, where Erestor sweetly and easily obeyed every one of his commands. He took Erestor rough, hard, and merciless, both in his own bed and on the floor, even ending the night down in the stables, where he fit Erestor with select riding gear and cooed at him like a steed, only to mount him anew. Erestor still bears the bruises from it. But he wears them well, as he does all things, and there’s nothing vindictive in his stern stare.

He says nothing as he draws Glorfindel over to his closet. They have to pass the bed on the way, where a thin, silver chain is conspicuously wrapped around the bedpost. Tonight belongs to _Erestor_ : his final show before they wed, where Erestor will unleash all he can. The ancient custom of Gondolin is meant to teach a lover just what their partner truly desires, to judge once and for all if they can provide it. Of course, it was meant only for a lord to subject their servant to, in the unusual circumstance that the two should wish to marry. Glorfindel refused to take Erestor so deeply without the promise of returning the favour. He knows already that nothing Erestor can do tonight will drive him away, but it still makes him nervous. He’s never been truly _chained_ before.

But it wouldn’t be fair for him to always hold the reins. So he stands tall and still while Erestor ignores him in favour of the closet. Many stiff robes are brushed aside, each more conservative than the last, all elaborately embroidered and of impeccable style. Erestor’s never looked anything less than delectable. Glorfindel’s own robes have degenerated over the decades into things worse to look at but better suited for the field. Even now, he wears simple trousers and a tunic, having come from his evening training. He isn’t surprised that Erestor’s first choosing to dress him better, although he’d thought Erestor might not allow him any clothes at all—he’d quickly divested Erestor of such coverings. 

Erestor’s never been as crude as him. He should’ve known that. Finally, Erestor chooses a long set of blue robes, dark as the night sky, emblazoned with silver trim and faint, golden swirls that sparkle like the sunlit edges of evening clouds. Holding it up to him, Erestor muses, “Yes, this will look good on you. It will compliment your eyes. ...And tonight, my love, I intend for you to look exactly as good as you are.”

Glorfindel, getting the gist, begins opening the ties of his tunic. As he pulls it over his head, he asks, “Then why are you starting with clothes?”

Erestor ignores the joke. Tossing the tunic to a nearby chair, Glorfindel collects the robes and slips them over his shoulders. Erestor helps fasten them up the front and answers, “I am going to show you off, my lord—and by that I do not mean the lord I serve, but a lord that is _mine_.” Glorfindel crooks a brow, curious. Even through the thick fabric, Erestor’s hands working deftly across his chest does things to his mind. As if hearing the unspoken question, Erestor explains, “We have a dinner to attend tonight. It is last minute, yes, but the chief councilor has such liberties as to arrange such things. All those on Lord Elrond’s council will attend, including those that showed some disapproval at our engagement.”

Glorfindel had never thought to bother with any of those. There weren’t many, but some still clung to the notion that an ancient lord had a duty to marry a highborn noble that could bear children for them. On the other end, some seemed to Glorfindel merely jealous—he thinks jealous of him, but Erestor insisted otherwise. Either way, Glorfindel has no desire to dine with them. 

But as it’s Erestor’s choice, he can only muse, “How strange. I would have thought your revenge would be... ah... forgive me, but _kinkier._ ”

Without meeting Glorfindel’s eyes, still busy smoothing out Glorfindel’s robes, Erestor dons a wry smile. “Revenge,” he murmurs, “has nothing to do with it.” When he’s finished tugging Glorfindel’s high collar into place, he purrs, “In fact, I quite enjoyed your evening. I hope you do not wait until an anniversary to so fully unleash on me again.” He ends with a peck to Glorfindel’s cheek, then wanders off towards his desk.

Glorfindel stands where he’s left, feeling a little too hot in the heavy outfit. It isn’t like his armour—cool metal designed for practicality—but tight and clinging with no mind for comfort, merely stifling and impressive-looking. Erestor pulls open his top drawer to fiddle inside, and when he glances back again, he smiles at the full sight of Glorfindel dressed up.

Then he turns properly, and Glorfindel sees what he’s fetched: a long, wooden phallus, carved in startling realism. The head is mushroomed, the shaft curved and veined. To see such a bawdy object in Erestor’s elegant hands is both strangely disquieting and thrilling. Glorfindel’s eyes are fixed to that spot as Erestor comes back to him. 

Then Glorfindel realizes what it must be for, and he pales. “Am I... going to have to have that in me...?” He manages to wrench his gaze back up to Erestor’s sly face, where he all but squeaks, “ _All night?_ ”

Erestor’s grin is positively feral. While Glorfindel was a whirlwind of passion, Erestor’s lust is tightly composed. His face flickers with amusement over Glorfindel’s prediction, but his lips purr, “You really must stop projecting your desires onto me, Glorfindel. I am sure you would love to stuff something like this inside me and parade me about on your arm. But while the depth of our love may be similar... the manifestation is decidedly _not_.”

Glorfindel doesn’t understand. His brow furrows in his attempt to, and he frowns as he returns Erestor’s even stare, waiting for the explanation. If he isn’t going to be chained to the bed, but taken to dinner, and if he won’t bear that dinner whilst suffering Erestor’s toy, then he can’t imagine what either instrument is for. 

Erestor takes another step forward. It puts them toe-to-toe, Erestor close enough to lean in and whispers over Glorfindel’s shoulder, tickling his ear: “ _I_ will bear it in me.” A wild shudder runs up Glorfindel’s spine, his fantasies flaring up and racing under the confusing admission. Erestor nips carefully at his shell and continues huskily, “I will hold it tight within my channel throughout the evening, and I will sit by your side, for all to see. You will be my golden trophy, and I will be your shivering lover. All night I will be shifting because of it, squirming in my seat, and emitting tiny gasps and subtle groans that none will notice or know the meaning of, save you. I am strong, Glorfindel. I will project nothing untoward. But you alone will hear it, will see it, will be attuned to every hitch of my breath. Every time my thigh presses against yours beneath the table, you will think of this wooden cock inside me, and you will wish it was _yours_. You will wish you had put it there, had seen me take it inside, had seen my channel wet and open for it. Whenever my hand should brush yours, you will know it is a silent plea—that I will be longing for you to put your hands all over my body, even to show mercy on me—to pull this lifeless thing out and fill me instead with your warm cock. You will know how I long for it, and you will long for me in return. ...And if I know you at all, you will grow jealous, too, for now all the council will have seen me _filled_ , and you will wish more than anything to make me _yours_ alone again. It will be all you can do to keep from throwing me across the table, wrenching it out right there, and claiming me before them all.”

By the time Erestor is finished his brutal promise, Glorfindel is sweating beneath the robes, hardening fast, although the robes cruelly bind him down, already pulled taut and refusing to tent. Erestor curls his tongue against Glorfindel’s ear, then pulls back enough to brush his lips across Glorfindel’s. 

Glorfindel is too heady even to lunge at Erestor now. By the time he’s recovered himself enough to, Erestor has stepped out of his reach, wickedly adding: “I am controlled and well behaved, my love. We will see tonight if you can be as well. And if you manage to survive dinner without touching me or moaning my name, perhaps you will get a reward. Perhaps _I_ will be the one with my ankle chained to the headboard tonight, my hands bound behind my back as you lay siege to my body. ...And if not... if you are naughty... I imagine I can conjure up a few things to do to you while you are tied. Perhaps your projections might then come true, instead of the prize of my surrender. We will see.”

Glorfindel wants to know _right now_. Dinner suddenly seems a horrid nightmare—he’s sure he’s flushed bright pink, and he has no idea how he’ll last with a table full of councilors while his Erestor sits there, stiff as ever, but stuffed to the brim with a cock that isn’t _Glorfindel’s_.

Erestor gives him a curt nod of dismissal. Then Erestor is strolling towards the washroom, still clutching the wooden phallus, evidently to deny Glorfindel the sight of his preparation. Glorfindel has no doubt that when Erestor emerges again, he’ll be once more the picture of propriety, with no sign of his discomfort. Those signs will eventually wear him down, will eventually shine through at dinner, and they’ll inevitably drive Glorfindel mad with lust—if it’s even possible to be an hornier than he is now.

The washroom door clicks closed. 

Glorfindel is left to stand there, having to fight hard against the urge to wank to thoughts of his beloved fiancé.


End file.
